Fading Embers
by Sci-Fi Nerd
Summary: Sequel to: To Push Back the Shadow. The continuing struggle against Thrawn and the Dark Jedi is building. Chapter 3: ... Allowing himself to seem to learn the Dark Side from K'talla M'niisonn would bring him closer to destroying her...
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I, Sci-Fi Nerd, am not in any way profiting from my reproduction of George Lucas, Michael Stackpole, and Timothy Zahn's characters and/or places. That said, all original characters are mine.  
  
Author's Note: Well, to anyone who reads this thing, you should have read the first part of my series, To Push Back the Shadow (check my author profile if not). It really is needed to understand a lot of this story.  
  
**Fading Embers  
**  
_Prologue_  
  
The chamber was dark and cold, oozing with impressions of violence, fear, and anger. Somehow, a dim glow suffused the air enough to provide sufficient illumination for sight, yet in some ways, it seemed to make the room more sinister. Footsteps echoed and machines whirred in the distance, but here, one could drown in the aura of evil.  
This was a place of the dark side.  
Corran Horn woke suddenly, still seated cross-legged in the center of the chamber. An odd fuzziness seemed to occupy the spaces usually filled by his recent memories of late, but he got the impression that he'd seen this place before. Also present, however, was an impression of imminent doom, and Corran had to fight back a rush of nausea and fear at the impulse, reaching out to the Force for strength.  
He winced as a slight shift in his movements drove a spike of pain into his side. As he embraced the cooling flow of energy that was his Force reserves, he could sense the various wounds dealt to his body. Two- no, three- ribs had been broken and not repaired, and punctures and burns marked great portions of his limbs and torso. He coughed and tasted the bitter aftermath of vomit in his gorge.  
From the darkness surrounding him, a shape loomed, tall, black like the surroundings, and terrible to behold. A halo of tentacles surrounded the massive, beaked skull, and the muscular, shining body and triple- jointed legs propelled it forward with purpose.  
K'talla M'niisonn, Corran recalled, more of the grey veil lifting from his memories. A Dark Jedi.  
"Corran Horn," burbled the oncoming alien ominously. "You are awake again. This is good."  
The In'ca Din'ca female stopped short of arm's reach from Corran; even so, Corran's hand grasped futilely for a lightsaber he knew would not be there. He remembered his captors destroying his grandfather's blade in front of his eyes sometime in the past of his long weeks of interrogation and abuse.  
They will not turn me.  
"Foolish man," K'talla's scornful voice flayed him with its brutal contempt. "You cannot hope to resist the Dark Side. Give in, and you will be granted power beyond your imagining."  
Corran tried to laugh, found that he lacked the energy. "I've heard that story before," he whispered harshly. "I will not betray my friends or the Force."  
A deep, ominous laugh rang out, quickly falling into a snarl. "I grow tired of your futile resistance, Corran Horn," she spat. "Very well; as you wish it."  
Confusion reigned in Corran's mind, but then a door slid open directly across from the pair of them at a distance of about three meters, and he was blinded by the sudden onslaught of light, and concentration vanished.  
When he blinked away the tears again, he heard a hiss of a lightsaber, and found himself gazing at a horrible tableau: K'talla, standing tall and arrogant, blue blade ignited in her fist, another In'ca Din'ca minion across from her, holding back the head of Wedge Antilles, ready for a killing thrust.  
"Wedge!" Corran's anguished hiss vanished into the dimness of the room.  
His friend was in bad shape; both eyes had been blacked almost shut, and cuts marred his strong features. His hair had been partially burned off, and a blaster scar marred that section of his skull.  
"You will accept my offer, or I will kill your friend," K'talla said brutally. "Do not try my patience; I have killed many times, and I will not hesitate to do so again."  
Corran clenched his teeth, fighting back furious tears. "What... offer?" he managed to grunt through his clamped jaw.  
The lightsaber drifted slightly away from Wedge's exposed chest, moving into line with Corran's motionless form. K'talla's eyes blazed with yellow flame, the very image of demonhood.  
"You will obey my commands and allow me to train you as I see fit," K'talla said maliciously, clearing enjoying the effect of her damning words on the prisoner before her. "In exchange, I do not kill this man, but instead, keep him in safe custody for you when you have grown to my satisfaction."  
One of Wedge's eyes flicked open slowly, the blue gleam seeming to pierce Corran's soul.  
"Don't... Corran," he gasped, before a heavy clout to the back of the head drove him back into unconsciousness.  
"What about the others?" Corran bit out harshly, a lump choking his throat. Please, let Luke and the others have succeeded and gotten away. Let there be some hope left.  
Now it was K'talla's turn to hiss in vexation. "Alas, things diverged from what we had foreseen," she admitted. "Your precious Jedi friend successfully defeated the Imperials and fled despite our efforts to hold him. As of now, they and the remnants of the In'ca Din'ca Confederacy are barricading themselves in Wild Space. They are no danger to us here."  
Corran squeezed his eyes shut. At least Luke had escaped. He fiercely regretted, now, not coming with Luke and learning the ways of the Jedi years ago when the offer had been made. But maybe his friends could find a way to leash this new horror they had inadvertently created.  
A sudden thought popped into his mind; a fearful, horrifying thought. "Where are we?" he whispered. "What planet?"  
A low chuckle came from the Dark Jedi. "Ah, little man," K'talla gloated. "That is the most delicious part of all.  
"We are on Coruscant."  
Corran hung his head. Coruscant. It was exactly as he'd feared. All the bloodshed over this planet's surface was simply to establish a new reign of tyranny over the galaxy.  
The hum of the lightsaber changed pitch subtly, and Corran's eyes flew open to see the tip of K'talla's blade singeing threads slowly off of Wedge's tattered Rebel flight suit.  
"My offer stands, Corran Horn," she stated purposefully. "Answer quickly; my patience is not unlimited by any means."  
Corran shut his eyes again. A dark feeling of dread was urging him to refuse, to resist with all of his being, to fight back somehow, but an ever darker demon of fear pushed him to think of his friends. How could he justify letting K'talla kill them so that he could be free? The call of a Jedi was to respect life, and how could he attempt to follow that kind of philosophy if he did not do all he could to preserve life?  
He lifted his head, looked K'talla in the eye, and gave his answer.  
  
A school of placid green bottom-feeder fish drifted by the viewports of the Tactical Chamber, and Luke Skywalker wished, momentarily, that he could float with them: free of cares and unknowing that the galaxy stood on the brink of a collapse into darkness.  
He realized someone behind him had spoken.  
"I'm sorry, General Bel-Iblis," he said, turning round. "What did you say?"  
The grizzled Rebel warrior smiled wearily at him. "Our border patrols say that the battlecruisers have withdrawn from the Ryloth system. It looks like they're going to back off for a little while."  
"Fortifying Coruscant," Luke murmured to himself, and turned back to the viewports. The underwater cities of the In'ca Din'ca were spectacular, but they did remind him of Mon Calamari. Mon Calamari, which, with the defeat of the combined Rebel and In'ca Din'ca forces at Coruscant, was now in the hands of Dark Jedi Master K'talla M'niisonn and her burgeoning empire.  
"Possibly," Bel Iblis agreed. "The Council seems to think so."  
Luke smiled faintly. "Odd, isn't it, General? The way that we can become so accustomed to such a reversal of position so quickly and treat it as the norm. Eight months ago, we didn't trust that same Council much more than the Imperials."  
A snort came from behind him. "Do we now?" the general asked sarcastically. "But speaking of Imperials, where do you suppose Thrawn's run off to?"  
"Hopefully to somewhere where he can build up and strike back at our Dark Jedi friends," Luke murmured. "We cannot even consider the idea of taking the fight back to them anytime soon."  
Bel Iblis sighed. "How could we have been so blind?" he asked softly. "How did we let them get into a position where they could do that much damage?"  
"We were desparate," Luke said quietly. "Desperate, and helpless. Chances are, if we hadn't gone to them, you and I would be dead right now, and the In'ca Din'ca Jedi might still have control over most of the galaxy."  
An insistent bleeping began sounding from one of the various comm and battle analysis panels scattered around the technology-cluttered room. Luke reached it in two strides and hit the button.  
A burbling voice rang out of it, an alien language that Luke and the other Rebel survivors had had to become proficient at understanding and even speaking in a very short time.  
"Really?" Luke asked the speaker, stretching out to the Force for calm. "When?"  
The voice rambled on again.  
"Fine," Luke told the speaker. "Have Ackbar alerted, and ask Djin'mat Control to have mine and General Bel Iblis' X-wings readied for launch. We'll be there shortly. Skywalker out." Luke hit the button. "Come on, General."  
Bel Iblis swiped his jacket from a nearby chair as he followed Luke to the door. "What's wrong, Luke? Were we incorrect about the withdrawals?"  
"No," Luke said quickly as they dashed into the hallway. "Three Star Destroyers just appeared at the edge of the system, claiming to be an envoy of peace from Grand Admiral Thrawn." 


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**  
  
Sleep was fitful as usual for Corran Horn. The unpadded durasteel bunk he was forced to retire on provided no convenient rest for his aching body parts, and the chill surface dashed any hopes of a comforting sleep. Regardless, his fatigue soon drove him into a kind of limbo, flashing with miserable dreams and worrying thoughts, all mashed together in an ethereal fog.  
It seemed to him that a bright light was shining somewhere nearby, but he could not make out the source or direction of the glow, even as it swelled in intensity. Intellectually, he could tell that what he was experiencing was not within the realm of reality, but the rightness of the vision could not be denied, a rightness that he felt in his bones.  
The glow built to a blinding wave of white brilliance that threatened to scour the lenses of his eyes into steaming pits, but it subsided suddenly, as if it was a wave of such light, resolving into a scene before him.  
The ground he stood upon was sodden and unstable perforated with pools of stinking water and likely swarming with all manner of unpleasant life. Massive gnarled trees wove an enclosing tower around him, roots thrusting like massive wooden utensils into the swampy muck. Somewhere nearby, a bird croaked out a warning call, and the slurp and slap of some aquatic creature on the prowl punctuated the groan.  
Corran felt eerily familiar with the place, as if it was somewhere he knew or at least should know, something he'd come into contact with before. That it was another planet was clear; not even the artificial landscapes dotting certain portions of Coruscant were like this.  
He looked down and discovered himself to be clothed in a simple Jedi tunic and robe, the brown homespun fabric blending easily in with the drab surroundings of the swamp. A black belt cinched his waist, and the simple silver cylinder of his grandfather's treasured lightsaber hung loosely from it.  
Corran unhooked the handgrip wordlessly and held it up before his eyes, blinking back unshed tears. In all these years, he had not followed the path his father and grandfather would doubtless have wanted him to take; and now, as a result, he lay captive in a Dark Jedi's lair, helpless to resist against their dark powers and evil methods.  
"I'm sorry, grandfather," he whispered to the blade, but he felt no consolation or relief from the cold handle. Reattaching the grip to his belt, he decided that he might as well explore these surroundings, as unreal as they might be. Sighing heavily, he took a deep breath and started forwards.  
As he moved out from the shadow of the trees, he discovered that the rest of this world, wherever his dream-self was, was much like what he could see from the inside of the tree cluster: dank, smelly, and filled with all sorts of twisted vegetation and slime, a veritable swamp. Hardly any stars were visible from under the massive canopy of trees, and Corran didn't think one would be able to climb their slick, winding trunks high enough to peer through their oppressive umbrella.  
As he slipped along a line of boulders and blackened trees, he felt a patch of the swamp's already unstable soil twist and give way, and without warning, he plunged downwards through a convenient gap strung with roots, ending the short flight with a massive crash on a rock-hard floor.  
Wincing in pain, Corran tried to sit up and catch his breath, gasping and spitting out twigs and patches of slick moss while he nursed a severely bruised tailbone and what he felt to be a sprained ankle.  
He had fallen through the hole into a small, clean cut chamber in the ground, braced by a couple of critically placed rock pillars, that appeared to lead to a short tunnel shrouded in mist. Trying to peer through the mist, Corran thought he discerned a stone doorway, but he couldn't be sure.  
A sudden noise brought him scrambling to his feet, activating his grandfather's lightsaber with a sharp hiss of released energy, only to discover moments later that it was merely a small lizard scampering across one of the many vines that lined the walls and ceiling of the small tunnel.  
_Get a grip, Horn,_ Corran told himself. _You're stuck in a dream; nothing can happen to you._ However, he did not relinquish either his grip on the lightsaber or deactivate the silver blade. Wincing again as he attempted to put pressure on the wounded ankle, and drawn by some inner desire, he placed his right hand on the wall of the cave, and hobbled forward, towards that door-like impression he had discerned.  
As he moved forward into the darker recesses of the cavern, small sounds began to build in his straining ears: the plink of water droplets collecting and falling from leaves or crevices in the stone that seemed to permeate this portion of the cave, the scuttling and rustling of small animals moving about, and the harsh, rhythmic vibration of his own rasping gasps. The hum of the lightsaber was soon forgotten, though he was grateful for its guiding light as it severed its way neatly through chunks of mist and dangling vines.  
Finally, he reached the doorframe, and collapsed tiredly against the solid surface, breathing heavily. His hobbling pace had taken quite a toll on his already confused body, and he decided that a rest break would probably be a good idea before attempting an exploration of whatever lay beyond the door.  
As he lay there by the door, he had ample time to think, a strange thing for a dream. Inexorably, his thoughts were drawn to his activities before being forced to retire for the night, exhausted.  
K'talla M'niisonn was a twisted, evil example of a sentient being, Corran had no doubt. But regardless, he could admire her slow, sure methods, her effective use of situational simulations to anger him, to force him to succumb to her plans for doubtless turning him fully to the Dark Side.  
Anger built in Corran's mind again, and his fist clenched tightly around the now-deactivated lightsaber. It had never struck him as clearly as it did now, but he suddenly realized that he actually wished to cause someone pain. He wanted to flay K'talla M'niisonn and her Jedi followers slowly, so that they died screaming in pain for what they had done to the galaxy, to him.  
Instinctively, he shied from that response. He had talked with Luke enough times to realize that that way was the path of the Dark Side. But he could not help but wonder: was revenge not justified in some cases? Was there not a point at which you could legitimately say that you were right in causing pain and fear in another being? If Jedi did not at some point take the opportunity to strike hard at the Sith, what then was there to prevent the Sith from overrunning the galaxy as the Emperor had?  
Corran squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out images of Wedge being tortured, blood flowing from jagged wounds, bruising eliminating his ability to move, talk, or see. He had no choice but to go along with K'talla's commands. First and foremost to a Jedi was the commitment to preserve life, and he would take whatever steps necessary to keep Wedge alive.  
Breathing a little easier now, Corran decided that, since he had obviously not awakened yet, he might as well explore the doorway and whatever lay beyond. He had nowhere else to go.  
Grunting in pain as the effort to rise put additional pressure on his twisted ankle, Corran hefted the lightsaber in his left hand, and activated it again with the distinctive snap-hiss. Sucking in another deep breath, he grasped the edge of the door frame, and propelled himself through the entrance with a vigorous hop.  
And found himself in a brightly lit corridor, a corridor surprisingly familiar to him. He looked about in wonder and discovered that he was back on board the Imperial Star Destroyer Chimera, Grand Admiral Thrawn's flagship.  
Where he'd been captured.  
The scene was exactly identical: the two In'ca Din'ca trotting ahead in point position, Wedge and Corran and the Rebel commandos in the rear. Bewildered, Corran found that he seemed to have no control over his own body, and he was simply carrying out the actions by rote.  
_No! I will not let this happen again!_ He screamed the thought to himself as the party of infiltrators drew close to the fateful armory room. He remembered every step, every glance, every flick of the lightsabers that the Jedi were holding.  
As before, the squad cut through the door and leapt to engage the stormtroopers attempting to inventory weapons stored against the far wall, blaster bolts flying as thick as raindrops, while the whirling lightsabers covered the trained commandos.  
Then, as the firefight stopped, the last of the Imperials falling to the ground with smoking pits in their pristine armor, Corran began to feel control return to his limbs, and he felt the cool haft of the lightsaber clasped in his sweaty palm. Please, he begged silently, let the Force be with me, just this once.  
As he felt full control of his body return to him, he leapt forward, lightsaber igniting and swinging into attack position. The In'ca Din'ca both jerked back in surprise as they raised their weapons to defend themselves.  
"It's a trick!" Corran screamed. "They're Dark Jedi!"  
Any shocked objections the strike team thought to make were drowned out in a sizzle of lightning as the Jedi on the right lifted a hand from the haft of his weapon to send a blast of dark energy coursing at Corran's onrushing form while striking blindly with his lightsaber to bring his companion down, blood gushing from a vicious slash on the side of the head.  
Corran caught the attack on the front of his blade, and swept forward to batter furiously at his opponent's raised blade while another burst of lightning lanced forth, this time concentrated behind him. Corran heard Wedge and the others scream in anguish as the Dark Side energy attacked their nervous systems.  
Deftly parrying Corran's furious attack, the In'ca Din'ca slowly and methodically forced him back towards the wall, passing the twitching forms of Corran's friends as they did so. Corran could feel his energy beginning to flag, and he realized that his untrained deflections were not going to be able to fend off the trained warrior before him.  
He lunged in attack once again, but this time, the In'ca Din'ca dodged the strike, grabbing a handful of Corran's uniform and yanking him forwards, adding Force strength to his own to send him catapulting furiously for the far wall. A sickening crunch heralded his impact, and Corran blacked out momentarily.  
When the static in front of his eyes cleared, Corran saw the Dark Jedi standing tall and terrible over the still forms of Wedge and the other commandos, lightsaber raised for a finishing blow.  
"NO!" Corran screamed, and he leapt forward as the Jedi's blade struck downwards into Wedge's neck.  
Corran flew into a rage, whirling onto the attack with unparalleled fury, swinging with monstrous blows that would have cut through armor plating in a nanosecond. Again, the In'ca Din'ca dodged the strikes and deftly disarmed Corran with a numbing blow to the wrist with the haft of his weapon.  
Corran only felt the beginnings of the lightsaber sawing into his neck.  
The cave reappeared suddenly around him, and Corran slumped to the ground, tears of rage pouring from his eyes in harmony with the wracking sobs coming from his chest, from the very center of his being.  
"No, no, no," he murmured furiously, trailing off as his throat choked him with an iron grip. He pounded his fist on the cold stone flooring of the chamber, not caring that his strikes were beginning to bloody his hands.  
"Much anger, yes," said a calm, somewhat squeaky voice from behind him. "And much pain."  
Corran swiped at tears still coursing down his cheeks as he turned on his side to view the intruder, nearly screaming as his injured ankle caught on a snag in the floor and angled sharply, stressing the bone incredibly.  
The figure he saw was very short, and faintly luminous, almost seeming to fade into the mists beyond. Wrapped in diminutive Jedi robes, the creature leaned heavily on a walking stick, and pointed ears thrust out of a sparsely covered head. It seemed to be regarding him quizzically.  
"Who," Corran croaked out of his still-constricted throat, "who are you? I want to be left alone."  
"Heh," the creature laughed shortly. "Alone you are, yes, all alone. Always alone, are you."  
Corran felt irritation at the strange being. "Who are you?" he demanded angrily.  
"You see, much anger," the being said softly, almost as if to himself. "Yoda am I."  
Corran frowned for a second, and then his eyes flew open in astonishment, tears and anger forgotten completely. "You are the actual Yoda? You instructed Luke Skywalker?" A thought struck him. "But you're dead, aren't you?"  
"Heh," Yoda said again. "To friends, you are dead, yes? Relative, death is."  
Corran felt faintly confused, but was still too much in awe of the little Jedi Master to object to the conundrum he posited. "Then... I'm on Dagobah? I'm having a vision of Dagobah?"  
"A quick mind, yes, very quick," Yoda nodded his assent, coming forwards slightly. "A Force vision, this is, yes, very hard to distinguish from reality. Called you I have."  
More astonishment filled Corran's mind. "Called... me? Why?"  
A frown wrinkled Yoda's brow, and a sigh followed that seemed to deflate him. "Darkness, there is, moving across the galaxy." His eerie gaze drifted across Corran to pierce his eyes. "Connected to it, you are."  
"Me?" Corran asked weakly, and then fell back, squeezing his eyes shut in remembered pain. "I had no choice."  
Yoda's voice hardened. "Do all you can, you must, to prevent the dark side from spreading. If much further it reaches, all hope is lost."  
Corran shot up, anger blazing like a torch inside him. "I will not be responsible for my friend's death!" he snapped.  
Sadness engulfed Yoda's eyes. "Told you he did, not to relent. Willing, is he, to sacrifice for the greater good. Why let you the Dark Jedi have their way? Tipped the balance is already."  
"I cannot, I WILL NOT!" thundered Corran.  
"Called, the Jedi are, to maintain the balance," Yoda returned quickly. "If a Jedi you hope to be, practice these beliefs you must."  
"I- will- not- do it," hissed Corran.  
"Then everything you risk," Yoda said, and Corran felt the vision dissolving around him, and felt himself descending back into a more peaceful, dreamless sleep.

Thanks to Schezerade, who pointed out the things that helped shape this chapter! Hope you liked it. Please keep reviewing, everyone! This story thrives on both praise and criticism!

-Sci-Fi Nerd


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**  
  
The great In'ca Din'ca capital city of Um'tallara'non was enshrouded in more than half a kilometer of water, swirling with various and wondrous forms of life. A semi-constant mist of tiny bubbles, oxygen leaks from various chambers and devices, surrounded the city in kind of a surreal mist. Giant lo'quaa predators swept by, pausing to assess the city with their massive vidscreen-sized eyes before sweeping onwards towards less confusing and more edible prey.  
The hangar bays of the great city were located at the very highest point, balanced on their tall, broad towers by a shelf of coral rising nearly to the faraway surface of the watery planet. Shimmering golden containment fields held back the water in a sort of hypnotizing ripple, and static discharges lent sound and bright color to the display.  
Luke remembered that when he, Corran, and General Bel Iblis had first come to the planet to negotiate a treaty between the In'ca Din'ca Combine and the floundering Rebel forces, they'd landed on an exterior landing pad for diplomatic guests. However, they were not suited for the storage of craft like the Rebels' fighters and small cruisers, and so they had relocated to the hangars.  
It was a curious arrangement. Since the X-wings and small ships that the Rebels possessed were not capable of traveling under the water to reach the city, the In'ca Din'ca had been forced to come up with something to help make the transition very quickly.  
One of the jury-rigged ferry craft sat in the hangar at this moment, just settling the surface, its long, spider-limbed body slowly lowering its sole burden to the durasteel floor of the hangar with great precision. The In'ca Din'ca ferry pilots had become quite adept with the skeletal ships' magnetic clamps in a matter of months. Then Luke's jaw dropped as he realized what ship the ferry was depositing in the hold.  
It was the _Millenium Falcon_.  
"Luke?" General Bel Iblis murmured, awestruck, as he came up beside him. "Is that what I think it is?" He sounded half-relieved, half- apprehensive of the sudden development.  
Luke didn't answer but immediately started forwards as the light freighter touched down on the deck, landing ramp lowering before the magnetic clamp arms had even had a chance to fully disengage. The ferry pilot began to maneuver over to the far wall in case it was needed in the near future.  
The first figure down the ramp of the battered old ship was, predictably, the galaxy's most famous smuggler-turned-soldier, and undoubtedly one of the Rebellion's most visible symbols.  
Han Solo.  
"Han!" Luke exclaimed, closing the final few meters to the _Falcon_ and wrapping his brother-in-law in a massive bear hug that the stunned Han was slow to return. Luke stepped slightly away to look the Corellian up and down.  
"Luke!" came a female voice, and Leia Organa Solo came charging down the ramp to throw her arms around Luke's neck for a brief moment.  
Han's patented wry grin slipped onto his mouth. "Should have guessed that you'd be the one to create this whole big mess up-orbit," he said, jerking a thumb towards the ferry now settled against the wall. "Guys should learn to pilot properly before taking on a tug job."  
Luke's grin softened. "Good to see you too, Han," he said.  
"What about me, Skywalker?" came a voice, and Luke looked up to see Mara Jade framed in the entrance to the boarding ramp, obviously tired and limping slightly on one leg, but smiling and healthy-looking.  
"Mara," Luke exclaimed with genuine relief. Since her completion of the Emperor's last command to kill Luke Skywalker was accomplished by doing in his clone at the Mount Tantiss facility, Luke and Mara had become almost friends, and he had enjoyed the opportunity to practice his teaching skills by honing her natural Force talents. "How are you doing?"  
She made her way down the ramp and brushed a lock of hair back behind her ear with a weary sigh. "Imperials tried to take the Myrkyr hideout apart just a day after we'd set up. I got away and had myself a little reminder of that trek you and I did through the forest."  
"Ah." Luke winced. He remembered that trip too. Vornskrs and wandering Imperial patrols, among other things, had made it less than a fun time. "Obviously you got out okay."  
Mara bit her lip. "One of Karrde's contacts got me ship, and I started hopping around looking for you guys." She glanced down. "I couldn't get anyone else out alive," she murmured.  
Obviously a sensitive subject. Luke steered the conversation deftly away from that area. "Actually, I'm headed up-orbit right now," he said as smoothly as possible. "Apparently what's left of Thrawn's fleet has been nosing around the In'ca Din'ca's outer systems, asking for a meeting."  
Han did a double take. "Thrawn? The guy doesn't have an honest bone in his body!" he said in an outraged tone. "He doesn't even have the decency to die quietly when you need him to!"  
Luke, Mara, Bel Iblis, and Leia all shared a smile at Han's self- righteous indignation.  
Then Leia turned back to Luke. "You said you're going up there? For what?" Her eyes widened. "You're going to go meet with him?" she asked incredulously.  
Luke conceded with a guilty expression on his face. "He's been making peace overtures," he allowed quietly. "I'm going to go up with a few others and start sounding it out."  
"Peace? Thrawn?" Han snorted. "This is the same guy who tricked us into thinking he'd blockaded Coruscant with almost three hundred asteroids, the same guy who tried to unleash a new round of Clone Wars. Peace is not in his nature."  
"But tactics are, General Solo," Bel Iblis said gruffly. "And even a low-ranking starfighter pilot could tell you that with whatever Thrawn's got left in his fleet and what that Dark Jedi on Coruscant has, he needs ships and men."  
Han grumbled at that but let it pass. "So now we're turning into an arm of the Imperial forces?"  
Leia swatted him on the arm. "Remember Bakura, Han?" she raised her eyebrows in reminder. "We didn't do so badly with the Imperials there."  
"As I recall, I didn't much like the idea from the start," Han blustered. "And look where that went: Luke nearly got killed by those whatchamacallits they but in his bloodstream, Flurry vaped by the Imps..."  
"Han."  
"All right, all right," Han subsided with ill grace. "At least let us come with you, Luke. You need someone to watch your back, especially with Thrawn."  
Luke and Bel Iblis traded more amused glances.  
"Very well," the general said. "Let's get the ferry loaded up, and we'll be off."  
  
"Admiral?" Captain Gilad Pellaeon stood stiffly before the door to Grand Admiral Thrawn's private chambers aboard the Imperial Star Destroyer _Chimera_, thanking the fates for the thousandth time that Rukh was no longer around to pester him whenever he tried to see the Grand Admiral. Of course, Rukh was no longer around because of the mass rebellion that had taken hold of the Noghri, and that grated.  
The door slid quietly aside, and Pellaeon stepped warily into the room beyond.  
Normally, the Grand Admiral's chambers were festooned with all manner of exotic artworks, usually holographic reproductions, all taken from alien worlds and all aimed at granting Thrawn some unusual insight into the psyche of the Empire's enemies.  
Like the one that threatened to consume them now.  
Pellaeon hated the thought of Dark Jedi; he'd been opposed even to Joruus C'baoth's participation in the Empire's war from the very start, and a full-fledged, calculating Dark Jedi was even worse. But never in all his imaginings would he have though one to rise up with the Rebels against the Empire.  
_K'talla M'niisonn_, Pellaeon reminded himself of her name. She had controlled Coruscant now for nearly five months, and to all indications, she and her forces had settled in easily, to begin the establishment of her new empire, one that threatened both the actual Empire and the recalcitrant Rebel Alliance.  
"Captain?" Thrawn's voice broke into his thoughts, and Pellaeon snapped to even stiffer attention, were it possible.  
Thrawn was seated behind his wraparound desk that could change at the flick of a hand from art display table to a full tactical analysis and display computer linked directly to the Star Destroyer's main computer. Currently, it was an art gallery, a repulsive one, Pellaeon thought. Curled pipes and pitted coral wound in convoluted formation around strange creatures and landscapes, creating a disharmonious symphony of shape and perception.  
"Preliminary long-range sensor analysis, sir," he said, handing Thrawn a datacard over the illusionary display. "Intelligence says that all nearest habitable systems are not worth the risk of occupation. Defenses are high and as you know the In'ca Din'ca fleet is near."  
"Yes," Thrawn murmured. "We certainly do not want to provoke them, not if we're hoping for an alliance. Not yet, anyway." The Grand Admiral seemed, as always, somewhat distant, yet utterly sure and in control of the situation.  
Pellaeon must have let something slip in his expression, because Thrawn glanced up at him with a subtly condescending smile.  
"You do not favor an alliance with this rabble, Captain?"  
It was useless to lie, Pellaeon knew. Thrawn had never had any problems reading him or his thoughts. "Yes, sir," he admitted. "Regardless of their ragged appearance, all indications are that the Rebels and In'ca Din'ca, especially the latter, are deadly fighters and can be quite cunning."  
Thrawn flicked a hand in dismissal. "I have seen examples of the In'ca Din'ca's artwork," he said. "They are indeed complex and quite intelligent, but they, like everyone else, have their weak spots."  
Pellaeon felt sufficiently brave enough to press the issue. "However, working together, couldn't they maybe overcome these weaknesses by combined planning?"  
Thrawn smiled softly, eyebrows raised ever so slightly. "You impress me, Captain," he congratulated him. "That is indeed the sort of thinking I expect to have to encounter as they grow accustomed to me." He swiveled back to the art. "However, we can adjust for it."  
"Yes, sir," Pellaeon suppressed a sigh.  
He had turned to leave when a strident beep rang out from the Grand Admiral's communications panel. The fake sculptures disappeared instantly, and once more the room took on the aspect of a war room. Thrawn reached for the toggle.  
"Grand Admiral Thrawn," he said calmly into the speaker.  
"Admiral, this is the bridge," the voice of Major Tschel rang out from the device. "We've detected a small fleet of In'ca Din'ca warships approaching, sir. Preliminary hails indicate that they are carrying a diplomatic delegation responding to our overtures, sir."  
"Excellent," Thrawn told the major. "Keep me informed; myself and Captain Pellaeon will be arriving on the bridge to conduct further talks." He hit the kill button and turned to Pellaeon, rising out of the chair and smiling viciously, like a nek battle dog about to pounce. "Come, Captain," he said. "Let us greet our guests." 


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**  
  
Little sparks of pain assailed him from all sides, lighting nerves on fire as they splashed agony through his body. Synapses recoiled from the massive intrusion of scrambled signals, and involuntary convulsions transformed him into a sweating, half-paralyzed wreck lying on the cold stone floor.  
With a gasp, Corran felt the assault cease abruptly, and sank even lower on the chill duracrete, reveling in the cooling sensation of the grating material pressing against his face and side. He tasted the hot tin of blood from a bitten cheek, and salty beads of dirty sweat stung his eyes, but he could not summon the energy to blink. Fury built in him, pushing desperately against the calm he was attempting to forge through the fire of pain.  
"Come now, Corran Horn," the voice of whichever Dark Jedi's turn it was to torture him into unleashing new depths of power today. It didn't matter to Corran; he hated them all with a passion. "Surely you can do better than that."  
Corran snarled wordlessly in response, but choked down an eruption of ferocity, thinking of the always-calm Luke Skywalker. However, the specter of a dead Wedge Antilles weighed heavily on his mind also.  
"Again, then, I think," the voice said.  
The torture had been continuing for at least a week now, constant exercises designed to release his anger. Corran realized what they were trying to do, but in the wake of his promise not to let them kill Wedge, he was powerless to stop them, or else absent of all will that would allow him to. What did it matter if he were forced along a path of pain and darkness if he could spare others that agony?  
The latest method of conversion was pain. One or more of the Dark Jedi would pelt him with little bolts of pain until he either passed out from overloaded nerves or finally resorted to striking back at the menace.  
More attacks poured in, a hailstorm of them. Corran ground his teeth and tasted more blood, but refused to release all of his rage. Instead, he contented himself with a grunt of exertion and a telekinetic shove that, momentarily at least, halted the flow of pinpricks.  
A new voice seeped into the chamber as he detected the shuffling noises of whomever it was that was launching the attacks lumbered back to their feet, a voice of evil and tyranny.  
"Very good, Corran Horn," K'talla M'niisonn spoke, and then she spattered a burst of In'ca Din'ca into the blackness surrounding him. Lights began to glow softly from ceiling panels high up, giving him a proper view of the room he was imprisoned in.  
The duracrete walls and floor were, as he suspected, quite ordinary, unadorned except by a scattered few burn marks which he decided it was better not to know the origins of. About halfway up the far wall, a metal door stood open, and the black shape of the Dark Jedi Master was framed in its brilliant outline. The Dark Jedi that had been torturing Corran stood less than two meters in front of him, glaring arrogantly down its massive face at him.  
"Now, how is it, do you suppose, that you cannot fend off these attacks with your natural talent, Corran Horn?" K'talla said whimsically as she began a descent down a narrow set of stairs to the floor, the door whisking shut behind her with a clang. Her expression and manner seemed entirely innocent, but to Corran, the words were as a hunting cry.  
He sat stoically in silence, allowing his mind to play out scene after scene where he cut off K'talla M'niisonn's head with a lightsaber, or let her feel the agony as his Force powers crushed all air from her body.  
"You simply did not learn the proper lessons, Corran Horn," she said sadly. "Lessons that any apprentice of mine would have been taught long since." Her tone oozed fake compassion.  
Another laugh issued from his mouth, followed by a hacking cough. "Lessons?" Corran wheezed viciously. "Lessons in hate? Pain? Mutilation? Torture?" He spat again, wincing as the effort drove daggers into his parched and scratched throat. "I don't need those."  
"Ah, but what is it you do need, then?" the Dark Jedi said slowly. "Coddling? Babysitting? Compassion?" She flicked a hand. "That is not the way of the natural world. Those with the will and courage to do what is necessary survive."  
"I don't need your lessons," Corran said.  
"As you wish," K'talla said. "I presume you need no company, then? I understand it gets lonely being in isolation as you are."  
Corran growled angrily at her. "You cannot possibly provide me with companionship that I require."  
"Very well," K'talla said carelessly. "Then I do not mind showing you this." Her hand gestured, and a hidden holoprojector came to life, casting a terrifying vista into blank space above her head.  
Corran immediately recognized the Pulsar Skate, his wife Mirax's personal star freighter, one that she had inherited from her father upon his incarceration in the spice mines of Kessel, a voyage he had been sent upon by Corran's father. It was Mirax's pride and joy, and the ship had bailed Corran and Wedge out of trouble numerous times.  
Now, though, it lay drifting, cold derelict, only the stars surrounding it in blackness shedding any light. All viewports lay dark, and the engines were obviously cold.  
Corran gritted his teeth, though his voice did not show his sudden alarm. "So it's a lost ship. What do I care?"  
"Corran, Corran, Corran," K'talla said in a low voice, much in the tone of a schoolteacher addressing a recalcitrant child. "You disappoint me. However, if you care not..." She waved her hand again, and the recording began to play forwards.  
A sudden flicker of the interior glowpanels as the power levels jumped high enough to deactivate circuit breakers all over the ship was the only warning Corran had, before a yellow ball of flame blossomed and consumed the entire ship in a hellish explosion, sending massive, warped chunks of durasteel flying far beyond the viewing range of the cameras recording the event.  
"NO!" Corran shrieked, surprised that his voice still functioned well enough to emit that sort of volume, though the ghastly noise was in keeping with his feelings. A lump blossomed in his throat. "Damn you, Sith," he moaned. "Damn you."  
K'talla's smile blossomed again. "Oh, never fear, Corran Horn," she said soothingly, "your dear Mirax is safe with us on Coruscant." Corran's head snapped up as if jerked on a line. "For now."  
The view in the holoprojector changed to show Mirax, bruised and bloodied, lying prone and restrained on some sort of examination table in an unidentifiable room. The construction was very similar to modern Imperial equipment, though Corran did not recognize many of the devices.  
The hidden focal cameras zoomed in on a hand that suddenly appeared in the corner, holding an old-fashioned needle with a clear fluid inside of it.  
"On our planet, Corran," K'talla began, "there are many poisonous creatures. Many of them use either claws or spines or some trick to inject their deadly burden into other creatures."  
"You BASTARDS!" Corran screamed, trying to lunge for K'talla, but his knees failed him and he collapsed, sobbing, to the floor.  
K'talla continued as if she had not even noticed his futile attack. "One of them is most curious in that in has no way of introducing the poison to its enemies' bodies. It's blood is highly toxic, and it must be eaten if it wishes to kill another creature. Although the blood is toxic, it contains a pheromone that creates a feeding frenzy within other creatures. Approximately 200 milligrams must be absorbed into the bloodstream for it to be fatal, and the poison can lay dormant for weeks in the body."  
The recording continued as the needle descended at an agonizingly slow speed to Mirax's wrist, where a tiny portion of the fluid inside of it disappeared inside her veins. Corran's sobs filled the whole chamber, echoing off the cold, hard walls.  
"I am injecting 20 milligrams a day," K'talla said. "If we reach 200, well, she dies, I'm afraid." She raised a finger. "If, however, you perform to my satisfaction, not merely this slow learning you have been attempting, I will halt the next dose."  
"How can you even think of something like this?" Corran demanded, barely choking the words out through a mask of pain and rage.  
"Anger can save you, and them," K'talla said softly, ignoring the question, her voice hardening to something akin to durasteel, and twice as cold. "If you do not recognize that you have it in your power to save yourself, your friend, and your wife, it will be your own fault when they die."  
The thundercloud of red righteous fury that had been building in Corran finally reached critical mass, and unleashed its wrath. Corran saw nothing but a white haze before his eyes, and was dimly aware that he was screaming in pain and anger.  
When his eyes cleared as he rode high on the tide of rage, he saw shafts of brilliant blue lightning connecting his clawed, emaciated fingertips to the palms of K'talla's black hands, where there abruptly splintered and shot off to the sides to splash on the walls before they burned themselves out, leaving a stink of ozone in the air.  
Then, Corran halted, gasping for breath, and felt a smile creeping onto his face. Now there was no pain, no fear. He felt clean, pure and unbound by the restrictions he'd been holding himself to for the past few days. It felt so good he reached out again and imagined his hands around K'talla's throat.  
Her eyes widened as his Force grip clutched itself tight round her neck, choking off any and all air supply. At first, he thought he saw a flash of panic in her eyes, and he reveled in it. Then, those giant orbs hardened, and a flash of lightning sprang forth from her fists.  
Corran felt the Force and concentration leave him as the lightning crawled its way over his flesh, igniting pinpoint flares of agony as they dissipated into his bones. He even felt one singeing its way up his spinal column, triggering a paroxysm of vertebrae that left him twitching on the floor, feeling the rough duracrete scrape flesh off his cheek.  
As the seizure stopped, a shadow loomed over him.  
"Excellent, Corran Horn," K'talla growled at him, her voice a curious mixture of pleasure and fury. "A very good beginning. If you continue in this way, you will become powerful indeed."  
_Powerful enough to destroy you,_ Corran thought, and then realized the excellence of that thought. One of the best ways to discover and destroy underground criminal organizations back when he had worked with CorSec was the undercover approach.  
_ If I can do the same here..._  
Allowing himself to seem to learn the Dark Side from K'talla M'niisonn would both get him closer to destroying her, but also closer to freeing Wedge. _If I can bring her down, I can easily free Wedge and Mirax._ After all, the focus of a Jedi's life was the protection of life, and by invading and bringing down the Dark Jedi on Coruscant, he would be serving the entire galaxy's interest.  
A small voice, however, began to replay itself in his head. _Tipped the Balance is already... everything you risk..._  
He dismissed the memory of the vision with a mental wave. Yes, the balance of power was badly shifted, but by destroying the Dark Jedi by seeming to become one of them, he would be acting for the greater good to restore the power where it should be. Luke himself went aboard the Second Death Star to turn Darth Vader while being tortured by the Emperor. Infiltration was a large part of the Alliance's earliest victories. It made sense to pretend.  
_Ah, but the anger..._ Corran angrily smothered those troubling thoughts. If anger became a power source that let him destroy the Dark Jedi and avenge the deaths of all those they had killed, so be it. As long as he accomplished his goal, what did the means matter? He would be acting for the good of the galaxy.  
"How powerful?" he asked K'talla M'niisonn.  
A smile split her massive, beaked face in two. She leaned closer to him, bringing her large mouth close to his ear. The deep breaths of the alien Dark Jedi fell hot on his shoulder.  
"You could challenge Darth Vader himself, were he yet alive," she whispered maliciously.  
His eyes drifted back to the now-still hologram of Mirax, beaten and beautiful on her prison bed. How could he let her die? And Wedge, what of him? Tears filled his eyes. Could he do it?  
_Do it for them,_ a voice whispered in his mind. _Save them.  
_ "Your participation, Corran Horn, or their blood on your hands," K'talla said.  
_Everything you risk..._  
Surely Master Yoda would recognize the necessity of aiding friends and family. After all, Luke had rushed off to Bespin to help Han and Leia, and the Rebellion won the Galactic Civil War because of events that transpired there. This was merely another chapter in the great history of the hard choices that needed to be made.  
His eyes hardened, and he let the anger he still felt at K'talla M'niisonn to bubble up. Play your games, Sith. I will bring you down in the end.  
He looked up at her. "Teach me the Force," he asked in a voice of controlled flame. _You will pay for your crimes when I am ready._  
_When I am_ powerful. 


End file.
